Heating of Mies' IIT Chapel

I recently visited the Chapel at the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT), designed by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and completed in 1952.  It is officially called the Robert F. Carr Memorial Chapel of St. Savior.  Fun fact: even though it is a non-denominational chapel, it was paid for by the Episcopal Diocese of Chicago.

The air in the Chapel is not heated.  In fact, there is no mechanical air system at all.  The Chapel was (and is) heated by a hydronic (hot-water) radiant floor system.  The floor is terrazzo.  One can imagine that Mies preferred this system because it is invisible, and he did not need to worry about how ducts and diffusers would need to interact with the 'purity' of the structure and the architecture.

But there was one additional problem --- the cold-glass effect.  To compensate, there are also a couple of radiators inside the glass.  It's visually incongruent to see the Victorian method of radiator heating in such a quintessentially modern building.  It must have been a painful compromise for Mies.

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/5f/13/81/5f13817dc5132338df5c77a4860a05f3.jpg

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/5f/13/81/5f13817dc5132338df5c77a4860a05f3.jpg

I am not sure how much insulation is (or was) in the brick walls, or the roof, or underneath the floor.  Probably very little.  Although the Chapel was restored in 2014 by Gunny Harboe the original mechanical systems weren't touched.  As Blair Kamin noted, the chapel "can become an icebox during Chicago's brutally cold winters." 

Also the chapel is oriented with the main glass facade to the east, and a secondary glass facade to the west.  The entire south face is brick.  Clearly Mies ignored the potential of passive solar heating.  This may be considered a legacy of Zeilenbau orientation.

Also on the blog: Mies at IIT: "Greenhouses"
Related: Crown Hall restoration (Architecture Magazine)

Problems and Paradoxes of Architectural History

These are some of the bigger issues I think about from time to time.

1. Practically all buildings are unique, therefore as architectural historians we generally work with anecdotal data.  In other words, it's storytelling. 

a. Broader claims are very difficult, because they tend to be either too obvious to be insightful, or too easily contested. 

b. 'Big data' may open new avenues.

c. Even when good data exists, architectural historians have a dubious but powerful tradition of waving away counter-evidence, because the exception proves the rule.  As Ruskin said: "Corrupted forms ... only serve to show the majesty of the common design." (source)

d. I don't think the 'storytelling' aspect diminishes the enterprise.  In fact I think for the most part I would like to embrace that and to craft stories that resonate and illuminate larger themes.

On storytelling, Dell Upton wrote: "What makes our work interesting is that the buildings about which we spin tales were made and used by men and women with stories of their own to tell.  The historian's challenge is to choose which of many possible stories to tell and to decide how to integrate our stories with theirs." (source

2. Problems of categorization have always been endemic.  We elide this issue today by pretending that it's old-fashioned to categorize things, but we'd be better off to confront the issue.

a. Historians often write about style as if it were established in advance and imposed by the architect as his or her overriding concern.  However, most architects insist that style is not prescriptive, rather it is the outcome of a process of searching. 

1. Ted Cullinan's reflection here is the best expression of this that I know.

2. Then there is this excellent passage from Matthew Frederick's 101 Things I Learned in Architecture School:

"True architectural style does not come from a conscious effort to create a particular look. It results obliquely—even accidentally—out of a holistic process.

The builder of an American colonial house in 1740 did not think, as we often do today, 'I really like colonials, I think I’ll build one'. Rather, houses were built sensibly with the materials and technology available, and with an eye sensitively attuned to proportion, scale, and harmony. Colonial windows had small, multiple panes of glass not because of a desire to make a colonial-looking window, but because the technology of the day could produce and transport only small sheets of glass with consistency. Shutters were functional, not decorative; they were closed over windows when needed to provide shade from the sun. The colonial architecture that resulted from these considerations was uncalculated: Early American houses were colonial because the colonists were colonial."

3. And I love this quotation from the introduction to Governing by Design, by Daniel M. Abramson, Arindam Dutta, Timothy Hyde, and Jonathan Massey:

"Rather than affirming the continuity from architect’s intention to realization in the completed building, or confirming master narratives of progress or conflict, these chapters emphasize the degree to which intention and outcome are separated by accidental confluences, redirected intentions, and unforeseen outcomes..."

In other words, the built environment is often unplanned in ways we don't normally acknowledge.

b. Discussions of styles or movements are complicated by the fact that they are defined by their 'minor' constituents.  The 'great' buildings, those which we naturally prefer to focus upon, are extraordinary in the sense that they usually flout the conventions of the style or movement.  (Joan Ockman wrote about this in her article "Toward a Theory of Normative Architecture," 1997.)

c. Taken together, these points mean that style is practically the opposite of deterministic.  It's more properly understood as a framework constructed after the fact.

d. Also, we're often not clear about period vs. style as different concepts.

e. Richard Longstreth's essay “The Problem With ‘Style’” (1984) has much to offer.  One interpretation of Longstreth's point: "We miss out on a deeper understanding of the built environment when we endlessly categorize it." (link)

3. Interpreting buildings is both a scholarly and a non-scholarly activity.

a. Many of the important writers of the past that we admire---I'm thinking of people like Lewis Mumford, Esther McCoy, Ada Louise Huxtable---were not scholars.  They freely mixed interpretations and facts, but they also had tremendous insights about buildings and people and trends.  There is a tension in the discipline between a desire to write more freely and a need to maintain academic rigor.

b. Since journalism is the first rough draft of history, historians depend on critics and other non-scholarly writers.  However, this is perilous, since: "The criteria by which architecture critics judge buildings are usually left unstated, slipping beneath the radar of even attentive readers: you must string together a series of articles to construct the underlying belief system." (Joseph Giovannini)  Moreover, today's architectural criticism seems not to operate by the traditional ethics of journalism (cf. the Martin Filler-Zaha Hadid episode).

4. Other disciplinary boundaries are complicated. 

a. The relationship between Architectural History and Historic Preservation is ill-defined.  They are different activities with different skills and conventions, but with significant overlap.  I think of AH as theoretical and universal, and HP as applied and local.  It's a bit like Economics and Accounting; you may not want to ask an economist to do your accounting, and vice-versa.

b. The relationship between Architectural History and Vernacular Architecture Studies is also problematic.  Everyone understands there to be a difference between "Architecture with a capital A" and "architecture with a lower-case a" (Dell Upton), but it's practically impossible to define or defend this distinction.  Most scholars just choose one to the exclusion of the other.  Upton is the person who has worked most vigorously and successfully to transcend these boundaries and present a unified view of our built heritage.

5. In my opinion "The Canon" is a valid and valuable concept, although it's also limited by being self-perpetuating.  Historians of my generation are always expanding The Canon or arguing against it.  It's probably better to think about canonical buildings for specific issues, like: the Larkin Building is canonical in the history of air-conditioned architecture.  But a general canon is still useful for introductory textbooks or surveys as the first platform on the scaffold of higher knowledge.

See also: The "flawed texture" of history

Trombe Parapets

Here's a wonderful example showing that it pays to know your history: The "Trombe Parapets" created for a new project called The Pavilion at Colorado State University in Fort Collins.

Most readers will probably know that a Trombe Wall is a mass wall (usually concrete) placed a few inches behind glass.  Solar energy is stored in the mass, and radiates slowly to temper the room behind.  In The Solar House I reconstruct the history of the Trombe wall, so-named for French engineer Felix Trombe.  (He built the first storage-wall house in Odeillo, France, in 1956, though MIT scientists had tested water-storage walls in 1946.  Douglas Kelbaugh probably coined the term "Trombe Wall" in the 1970s.)

This new application---the Trombe Parapet---is exactly as the name suggests: a small Trombe Wall placed above the roofline.  You can see the Trombe parapets in the image below at the upper left part of the structure.

from http://www.csupavilion.com

from http://www.csupavilion.com

A traditional Trombe Wall occupies the South side of a building, and this is an inherent limitation, as views from the interior in that direction may be obscured or limited.  The Trombe Parapet is here placed on the North wall of the building, still facing South, in a location where the occupants are not affected.

And, a traditional Trombe Wall works principally by radiation and natural convection, as the mass wall directly faces the space that it is intended to heat.  In the Trombe Parapet, the mass wall is located in an unoccupied part of the structure, relying on forced air convection to transfer the heat from the storage wall to the spaces in the building.  As the diagram above implies, there is some fan power required because the hot air must be moved downward while cool air is drawn up.  Therefore Trombe Parapets are limited in their efficiency and they are not strictly passive.

Also of note: the more prominent feature in the foreground of the image above is a Katabatic Tower.  This uses evaporative cooling and natural convection to cool the building in summer.  Katabatic means the downward flow of cold air.  This feature (not novel to the CSU Pavilion project) is based on older historical technology.  Similar cooling towers were popular in dwellings in the Middle East in the 18th and 19th centuries.

I learned about this project at the Biennial Conference of the USGBC Wyoming Chapter last fall.  The presenters were: Marc Snyder of 4240 Architecture, Linda Morrison of Ambient Energy, and Dennis Rudko of Cator Ruma & Associates.  As far as I know, these designers created the concept and the name "Trombe Parapets."

Image credit: https://www.usgbc.org/articles/top-10-states-2015-pavilion-laurel-village-csu

Image credit: https://www.usgbc.org/articles/top-10-states-2015-pavilion-laurel-village-csu

Hoyt Hall, University of Wyoming

The Alliance for Historic Wyoming asked me to write about a favorite building. They published it here. (Please visit them, and join or donate!) Some of it was edited for length; here's the full version.

When I arrived at the UW campus in Laramie ten years ago, like everyone I was immediately struck by the picturesque beauty of Prexy's Pasture and the ensemble of buildings surrounding it. What a wonderful harmony between architecture and landscape we enjoy! Yet I must confess that no individual building impressed me as truly excellent in and of itself.

And then I explored further and encountered Hoyt Hall. Hoyt grabbed me instantly, and all these years later I still believe it's the most interesting building on campus. I go out of my way to walk by it almost every day. Hoyt was built as a womens’ dormitory between 1916 and 1922; the architect was William Dubois of Cheyenne. It was named to honor of Dr. John W. Hoyt, UW’s founding president.

Why do I love it? Hoyt Hall is simply a beautiful architectural composition. Dubois designed a façade with a wonderfully complex and balanced rhythm. The vertical divisions and subdivisions are endlessly fascinating to study, in the same way English majors might analyze a poem by Keats. (I made a diagram to help explain this.)

The proportions, to my eyes, are excellent; that extra bit of solidity at the end of the wall, for example, is just right. And look at the vertical movements! How perfect that the Prairie-Style horizontal roofline is broken in three places, by the peculiar Mission-Style parapets that had no precedent on campus or in the area.* And how clever that the roofline was not broken where the bay windows thrust upward, resolving themselves in attic-level dormers. In 1922 this was stylish and innovative, yet deeply classical.

The backside exhibits a different and complementary hierarchy. The main public space, wrapped in glass, is allowed to step forward in an honorific manner. If the building is a symphony, this is the intermezzo. I expect this was originally the ‘living room’; it’s now an especially-habitable conference room. 

And I wonder, as I walk behind Hoyt, if the fire escapes were part of the original design, or a later modification. I can see bold 1920s women hanging out on these makeshift terraces on warm evenings. I’m sure young men reenacted Romeo and Juliet from below. I imagine how Edward Hopper might have painted such a scene.

Now, Hoyt Hall has not been well-loved, and the interior spaces are relatively miserable for academic use today. It's a difficult place to work, and certainly needs to be better-insulated for comfort and energy use. That will change soon; the University has commissioned a modernization. I'm confident the architects will preserve Hoyt’s remarkable design quality, while giving my colleagues a better place to work. I hope those evocative fire escapes will survive.

●     ●     ●

*In the region, Mission-style parapets are also found on these buildings:
     ● Lennox House, Colorado Springs, Colorado (1900)
     ● Northern Pacific Railroad Depot, Bismarck, North Dakota (1901)
     ● Union Station, Billings, Montana (1909)
     ● Holdrege train station, Holdrege, Nebraska (1910)